


A Thin Band of Ornate Metal

by LunaDeSangre



Series: Love is... [9]
Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29433996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaDeSangre/pseuds/LunaDeSangre
Summary: Kelly doesn'tliterallyoffers Matt his heart on a silver platter.But it's about the same thing.
Relationships: Kelly Severide/Matthew Casey
Series: Love is... [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/787995
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37





	A Thin Band of Ornate Metal

**Author's Note:**

> Or: One very, very drastic way of asking someone out.
> 
> Having read the previous parts of this series might be slightly necessary for this one. Set _very shortly_ after the previous one, even though there'll be a snapshot or two in between (but those won't have Matt).
> 
> ~~And you people don't want to know how long ago I started writing this. It's embarrassing, how slow I am.~~

It's past eight in the evening, but Matt answers his door almost right after Kelly's knock. Maybe he's seen Kelly bracing himself in his car across the street, for a full fucking ten minutes, or maybe he was just by the door, or _maybe he's expecting someone_ —and fuck, what if he is? What if he found someone else already? What if Hallie's already come back? It's only been days, but it _has_ only been days before.

But he's in an old CFD hoody and a worn-soft pair of nearly threadbare jeans, barefoot and with his hair all mussed on one side, the tv droning on softly in the background and no one peeking from any doorway, and his (beautiful) face is all concern and trust— _for Kelly_ , even now, after Kelly's treated him _so badly_ and never managed to properly articulate an apology, or even just answer those soft, caring probing about his health without sounding a wounded grizzly. Kelly's heart _aches_ —a confusing mixture of relief, shame and want. (Even his damn toes are beautiful, which doesn't help.)

"What's going on?" Matt asks, immediately following it with: " _Are you okay?_ "

"No," Kelly answers, before he can chicken out. "But I will be," he promises—with all his hope and all his might. (After all, if he's not, what he's about to do will just hurt Matt more, and that's not acceptable.)

Matt nods unsurely, little worried frown not abated in the least and blue eyes still so full of that silent concern it hurts to keep holding his gaze.

Kelly has to drop his own eyes to the floor for a second and take a deep breath before he can continue. He has a whole speech prepared—he's _sure_ he had a whole speech prepared—but he can't remember anything right now with his oblivious love in front of him, looking at him with such…raw _care_. Can't remember anything but the claddagh in his pocket he's clutching tightly without having consciously moved his hand there, can't feel anything but the burning need to take those two steps and kiss Matt—

"Do something for me?" he asks— _pleads_ , really. Which is something he's pretty sure has never been in any parts of his vanished speech.

"Sure," Matt agrees in a breath that speaks of pure relief, worried frown melting into a shaky smile. "Whatever you need," he adds easily, gently, eyes big and blue and so, so soft.

Desperation isn’t attractive, Kelly reminds himself—desperately. Also, he can't really do this on Matt's doorstep like that, can he?

"Can I come in?" he grins weakly.

"Oh," Matt breathes out, "yeah, sure, of course. Sorry," he babbles, moving aside with his eyes even wider, and Kelly could kiss him simply for being so sweet and so damn adorable. (Which...is how this whole thing started, isn't it? _Fourteen fucking years ago._ )

Instead, they do a little awkward dance, stepping around each other so they end up still face-to-face just barely inside, with Matt closing the door now behind his back, and Kelly basically blocking the way to the rest of the house, standing right there in front of him like a mute idiot.

"T's alright," he forces himself to say, laughing a little. "M'not staying long, just—" Yeah, they're in the corridor now. Like that's _so much better_.

Fuck it, he needs to do it _now_ , before he second-guesses everything again and takes the coward's way out. The how doesn't fucking matter, he reminds himself. Matt won't care about the fucking how—just that someone loves him enough to give him a ring. _That's_ all that matters.

"D'you want, um, a beer or something?" Matt nervously tries to offer, with a little aborted gesture in the direction of what Kelly can only assume is the kitchen (Kelly's never been here, _in Matt's house_ , before). "I've got juice, too, I think, if you want? Or water? Or—"

"No, no, that's fine," Kelly interrupts, before Matt can start enumerating all he can feed Kelly with, or something, "just—can you hold out your hand?" he asks, too quietly. "Palm up," he adds, and his voice is even worse this time.

But Matt hears him anyway—doesn't hesitate: he offers his right hand immediately, palm up like Kelly's asked.

"Here," Kelly whispers, grabbing the claddagh from his pocket and placing it on Matt's opened palm—gently letting it drop from his fist. "D'you know how these work?" he suddenly thinks to wonder, with a bolt of panic, and thankfully Matt immediately nods, eyes huge and lost.

Kelly nods back, automatically, feeling tongue-tied and stupid. "It's _yours_ ," he struggles to clarify, " _from_ me—I got it _for you_. Because I love you. Because I've _always_ loved you. Because I want to make you happy. You can do whatever you want with it," he rambles, hands in his pockets now, fidgeting in place, mouth completely out of control, unable to look at Matt's face, "you know, just toss it in the lake if you want me to fuck off or whatever," he tries to joke, and it does _not_ come out right at all. "Just—please think about it," he finishes up, lamely—begging.

It _has_ to be the most mortifying bout of incomprehensible blabbering he's ever done, and the lousiest proposal in the whole damn _history_ of humankind.

But hey, it's Matt, and Matt is worth everything—even this sad embarrassing thing Kelly is desperately wishing he could have done better.

The eternity of a few seconds. Matt is completely frozen, completely silent. Pale and staring disbelievingly at Kelly's face when Kelly finally gathers enough courage to look him in the eyes: he opens his mouth once, twice, not making a sound, drops his gaze to the, _yeah_ , engagement ring in his palm.

And Kelly...gives up. Stops fighting himself. He's not the good guy he should be—he's selfish and in love and he'll pay his due later. For the rest of his damn life, if this works, and very gratefully too.

So, because he knows it will _really_ make Matt think, will mess with his head enough that he'll seriously consider Kelly before Hallie if she comes back, or Dawson if she makes a move, or anyone that might pop up while Kelly is away getting sliced opened, he gets his hands out of his pockets and gently tilts Matt's chin up and breaks the only real promise he's ever made: he kisses Matt again.

Not just a peck either: Matt's mouth has opened a little in surprise, and Kelly takes full advantage of that, exactly like he did that first time all those years ago, only fully consciously this time, pouring everything he has and everything he is into it, all those years and all those fears and all those times he wanted nothing more than to hug Matt tightly and never let him go and just ended up patting him on the back instead. Fourteen years' worth of _want_ , of _need_ , of _love_ , of frustration and fucking hopelessness, in one kiss. And just like that first time Matt lets him, lets Kelly gently move his head, fingers on his cheeks and in his hair, lets Kelly stroke his tongue with his own—

Except this time Matt kisses back, a little, opening his mouth a bit wider, leaning into him slightly. Kelly's hit with such an intense wave of relief he could cry, really. Because truthfully, he hadn't been all that sure of himself, but mostly because: he hadn't thought it actually possible for him to love Matt _more?_

Yeah, right. Matt will _always_ be more—more _everything_ than Kelly can ever _grasp_.

He tangles his tongue with Matt's and Matt shyly responds in kind, and Kelly ( _loves him so much_ ) doesn't close his eyes, not through any of it, even if that's a struggle, because he doesn't want to miss a second of this, doesn't want to miss Matt's fluttering lids, blond eyelashes brushing his skin, and the way his hair is messy there on the other side now too because Kelly's run his fingers through it, the soft tip of that rather pointy perfect ear in his field of vision, the little shudder as Kelly strokes it gently with his thumb, that tiny _hmmn_ sound Kelly can _feel_ too, as he gently sucks on Matt's tongue a little, teases his palate with the tip of his own, nibbles at his lips, backs him flush against the door in an effort to get closer, body molding to his, their breaths mixing hotly, before starting all over again in a completely different order.

He steals Matt's breath, completely, and looses his own in the process. (Which is just fine: he's already lost his heart. And maybe— _maybe_ —so has Matt.)

Matt tastes of beer and cheese pizza and faintly of chocolate, like maybe he's had a cookie after his lonesome tv dinner. He smells fresh and clean and a little bit citrusy, probably because he's showered before eating and used one of those fruity organic shampoos he secretly likes. He feels just as Kelly remembers him—just as Kelly's imagined him since: soft and strong and firm and sweet all at once. But most of all, he tastes and smells and feels like _love_.

It's a hot, needy clinging kiss, but it's also the sweetest he's ever given anyone in his life (save perhaps Matt, that first time, but even then it's not a sure thing). Matt looks completely dazed by the time Kelly ends it, gently, caressing Matt's cheeks with his thumbs, his reddened lips, smile probably having gone right past idiotic and straight into lovesick. (Fuck it: he's an idiot and he's so impossibly in love he _is_ completely sick with it. Matt's his cure, right there, one way or another.)

And he can see it now, in Matt's eyes: all of Matt's walls, all his carefully constructed layers of protections, slammed down, because Kelly's kissed him again. He's matured, but that sweet wide-eyed kid Kelly had been so scared to damage is still there—looking right at him, all blue-eyed naked shock and wide-opened, terrified hope.

 _Hope_. Kelly's heart is filling with it too. Love and hope and so much of it it's overflowing. Kelly thinks he might drown in it. Thinks he might drown in those eyes—could drown, happily.

But Matt would never let him die, even figuratively: he blinks, and Kelly breathes, and Matt breathes with him, just as shakily.

"Think about it," Kelly begs again in a whisper, past the sudden lump in his throat, moving to cradle Matt's right hand—Matt's right fist, that he's closed around the claddagh in his palm. He coaxes it up, tenderly, holding Matt's (shining, watery) gaze, kisses the back of Matt's (very slightly trembling) knuckles. "That's all I'm asking," he adds, softly letting go.

Then he presses his lips to Matt's forehead too, gently moves him from the door, and leaves. He doesn't dare look back.


End file.
